


Tell Me That You're Alright

by renegadeartist



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-27
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:58:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2029377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renegadeartist/pseuds/renegadeartist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>But there were always days when she couldn’t get up, even when the alarms were ringing. She would have a dream of the quiet house, of the absence of strong arms to hug her like York had. She would be catapulted back to Freelancer, when all her friends were alive and well and they laughed at each other. But the happy dreams never lasted long. The death and heartache were soon to follow and Epsilon always tried his best to cheer her up by playing old audio files from York’s helmet or telling her about his adventures with the simulation troopers. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t, but it always managed to get her on her feet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me That You're Alright

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MistyMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistyMoon/gifts).



It was scary. It was scary for a little girl to grow up in a house that was always silent and empty, the only other resident hiding themselves in their bedroom and making no sound at all except in the dead of night when she couldn’t sleep. In those instances she went in search of even the smallest noise. In those instances she would creep down to her father’s door and listen, trying to reassure herself that someone else lived in the house and the handwritten notes telling her to just order pizza for dinner had an origin. She always heard him doing things, walking around, shuffling papers, things like that. Those were the times that she would remind herself of his smile and laugh and how it felt to be held by someone and she would feel marginally better. 

When she was still in elementary school the teachers asked her about her father every few months. They always seemed to care that they never heard from or about him but not enough that they would look into it. She never had an answer for them so she just said that he was busy with work. The teachers would stare at her, hoping for more details, but she never gave them anymore than that. The kids treated her differently, too. They all had lunches in paper bags with notes from their mothers, telling them things that her father had never told her. Then, at the end of the day she would walk home to an unlocked door and the same empty house, her prayers that she would finally see her father laughing and cooking in the kitchen again going unanswered.

Once a teacher asked her about her mother and she didn’t have an answer. She only said she didn't know her mother. The ones who asked just looked at her sadly and walked away and never spoke about it again. It wasn't entirely true, but it was close enough. The only memories she had of her mother was a bright laugh and a warm hug for the nights when she got scared. When she didn’t come back one day she went to her father instead. He read her a story and told her not to worry. “Don’t you worry, Carolina,” he had told her. “You’ll see your mother again.” But she never did. 

The day her father was sitting in the den, a bottle of something strong in his hand, was the day she knew things were going to change. He was crying, an ugly, blubbering sound that she had never imagined could come from the strong man that her father was. “Dad?” she had tried to ask. “What’s wrong? What happened?” All she got for that was an angry red mark on her face and the look on her father gave her still imprinted in her mind’s eye. He looked at her like she was a ghost, like she was something painful. She managed to answer her own question in time. Her mother had died and her father hadn’t been able to heal. That didn’t make it any easier to cope with the empty house. Sometimes she would grab a pillow and scream into it until the noise was nothing but a dull throbbing in her ears.

Her father had always talked about how she got her hair color from her mother and how it made her look just like her so when she was old enough to act for herself she bought red hair dye and suddenly her father would come out more often and actually talk to her sometimes. He could look at her because she no longer reminded him of a long lost love. Suddenly she was his daughter and not a constant reminder of his wife. But she could still see that he hadn’t let go and he probably never would.

Then things happened. She had to leave home, as everyone had to eventually. She worked in the military and was eventually recruited into Freelancer. She was the best there was, surpassing everyone and making her father proud. She was on the top of the leaderboards for what seemed like eternity. She was regarded with praise and she had a relationship with her father that she had never been able to get for the first time ever. She had friends and a life and her childhood didn't matter anymore because she was happy. 

Then Texas showed up and all that ended. It was the silent house and notes without a source telling her were to go and what to do. Suddenly she was thrown away, done with. The Director was done with her and she wasn’t a child who needed a father so she responded to him likewise. 

The last time she saw him was in a room alone and tired, ready to end it all. She had to resist the urge to yell and scream at him, tell him how shitty a father he was and how messed up he had made her life. How he destroyed any hope she had for a happy life. But she didn’t because by that time she realized how it felt to loose someone you love. Maine, North, South, Connie, Wyoming, and York were all gone. All because of the Director’s delusions to bring his wife back.

In the aftermath she worked to clean up the mess the Director had left behind. They left the simulation troopers in a canyon going about their business with one of the last Freelancers in disguise. Epsilon provided her with a conversational partner and a constant reminder that this time around she wasn’t alone. 

But there were always days when she couldn’t get up, even when the alarms were ringing. She would have a dream of the quiet house, of the absence of strong arms to hug her like York had. She would be catapulted back to Freelancer, when all her friends were alive and well and they laughed at each other. But the happy dreams never lasted long. The death and heartache were soon to follow and Epsilon always tried his best to cheer her up by playing old audio files from York’s helmet or telling her about his adventures with the simulation troopers. Sometimes it worked and sometimes it didn’t, but it always managed to get her on her feet.


End file.
